Page 4 of Shielding His Heart
But none of that consoles me.
I almost think it would be better. Easier to be any of the above. At least I wouldn’t be in this constant in-between state.
With continuous reminders in the form of these visits.
I don’t respond because I don’t know what to say. Seeing him makes me feel awkward, which makes me irrationally angry. I pick at the threadbare sheets wrapped around my waist. My head begins to throb, and I wonder if it will be long before my next dose of pain medication. I’m not even certain if I’ve had it yet or not, but at least it dulls the edges of my thoughts a little instead of feeling the steady maelstrom of confusion, worry, and anger. I’m so tired of thinking.
“You look beautiful today.”Liar.But he says that every time despite the purple-dark bruises on my face and the gash on my forehead. I’ve studied the face in the mirror in my hospital room a thousand times, trying to imagine what he sees that has him coming back day after day.
Aside from the bruises and bandages and the gigantic gash on my forehead, I don’t see anything special. Flat blue-gray eyes and dark blonde hair in need of a trim and a style that isn’t hospital bedhead. A slightly stubby nose, and okay, maybe I have nice lips. But is that worth this amount of dedication?
He edges a hip onto the chair by my side. It probably has an indent molded to the shape of his ass at this point. “Have you had a good day so far? It’s a pretty afternoon if you want to go outside for a walk.”
I don’t want to, not with him. But I haven’t seen the sky all day, so it’s tempting. I waffle between denying him or myself and begrudgingly get to my feet. He tries to help me to the wheelchair, but I collapse into it all on my own. Angrily, I wheel myself out of the room with him following close behind.
“When can I leave this place?” I hate that I have to ask. I should be allowed to go whenever I damn well please. I shouldn’t need anyone’s permission.
“We’re going outside now.”
I stifle the urge to yell. I may not know a lot about what’s happening, but I know acting irrationally won’t do me any favors. “I mean for good. I feel fine.”
“The doctors say you may need a little more time to heal. We’ll know more after we meet with Dr. Rennen this afternoon. It’s this way,” he gently corrects when I turn down a hall I was certain leads to the elevators.
He doesn’t comment when I turn around and wheel past him. “I feelfine,” I reiterate, but there isn’t as much power behind the words, no matter how loud I say them.
Silence fills the space between us on the elevator ride to the first floor. The lobby area is empty, and I work up a sweat slapping at the wheelchair until the automatic doors slide open and a fresh breeze hits my skin. I turn my face up to the sky, letting the soft afternoon sunlight warm me from the outside in. I imagine it purifying me of the hospital stench.
As soon as I get out of here, I’m going to spend an entire day outside. No monitors. No people. No medicine, bad food, or stupid TV—just me, the outdoors, the wide-open sky, and the sun on my face.
Maybe I’ll even camp somewhere, just for a while. The last thing I want to do when I’m well enough to leave is spend more time cloistered away inside four walls and a roof.
“The girls made you some drawings. Do you want to see them?”
There’s that hope again.
“Okay,” I answer without opening my eyes.
“I’m going to put them on your lap,” he says. I try to focus on finding zen with the sun and the breeze, but it isn’t as easy when he gets close to me. It’s probably the injuries. A couple broken ribs, one hell of a concussion, and a bruised lung would make it hard for anyone to breathe. But curiously, this reaction only happens whenhe’saround. My head goes a little light, and my chest aches like I’m about to cry, but I never do. And I don’t know why.
I hear paper rustling, a soft whisper next to my head, and his hand brushes against my thighs. The thin pants and shirt that have become my daily uniform do little to protect me from his heat. I’m thankful I’m not hooked up to the monitors anymore because my heart skips a little in my chest, and my calm breathing falters. I pray he doesn’t notice, but he’s already drawing away to give me space.
Opening my eyes, I blink away the floating dots from the sun, and my gaze lands on the drawings on my lap. Then I’m blinking my eyes for entirely different reasons. The girls have painted two family portraits for me. One is a mess of blotches and scribbles. The other is more studied, with a clear knack for art. They’ve both painted four people. Alec and me. The two of them in front.
My voice is hoarse when I find it again. “Tell them thank you for me.”
“I will, but you can tell them in person. If you want.”
I shake my head. “I don’t want them to see me like this.”
“We’ve been meeting with a child psychologist, explaining to them about the accident. They both understand, and Dr. Teatree seems to think it would be a good idea for them to see you.”
But what about me?
The thought is selfish and instantaneous. Would it be a good idea for me? Could I handle seeing them?
“I don’t know. I still look like I’ve been hit by a car.” The joke lands flat, which is shocking because Alec always seems to know what to say. He glances away from me, his lips firming into a line. I feel a little bad, but not really. I’m the one with broken ribs and a busted face. I’m a mass of bruises, and the only thing holding me together is the mood stabilizers. Is that really what I want to subject two little girls to? They deserve a mother who’s whole. They deserve the mother they had before the accident.
“Think about it,” he urges after a while, though he’s still not looking directly at me. It’s almost like it hurts him to see me. Maybe it does. “It could help. I could bring them here—”
